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She smelled like plastic fruit and Pablo
Neruda was her favorite poet. Her thoughts,
stoked with speed and Nietzsche
and wired by Paramount, brought out the secret patterns of the bedroom
wallpaper: suddering valences of time,
blue daisies, a frozen horse against which
I spread my legs, and read myself
my rights. She was crazy about pasta salad.
She never called me Ace, she never lied.
It sounded like bourgeois when she sneezed
and each time she came into a room
where I was, she'd click her tongue
and snap, you're not supposed to be
in this picture, boy, but it was me who bought
the custom-made dental pick she wore
around her neck on a silver chain,
it was me who tilted back that giant head
and worked the plaque until she screamed,
engraved messages for the archaeologists
below the gumline. Once it was her birthday,
and she swallowed the room. It slipped into her mouth
backward, like a car reeled into a garage,
and I realized then that love had evolved,
and no longer should I be concerned
with God, who tossed his dice across
her stomach, who bet her museum-quality
bones against her own.
On bad nights I'd find her, adding
freakish columns of numbers on the bathroom tile,
shivering, barefoot, shit-faced on mescal,
her moon in Virgo, her father's rusty, six-hole
leather punch a souvenir bulge in the front
pocket of her unzipped purple jeans. Alice,
I'd say (she made me call her Alice),
Alice, come back to bed, the worst is over
now. I can already feel
your prescription-dry tongue popping
like a match down my spine. This always
worked. I prayed our babies would have
her beautiful round head, the flotsam eyes,
her webbed tongue coiled in each drawbridge
mouth, and on each tongue her god-awful name.
I was in love with her when she was played
by time. No one else can say the same.
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Commentarium (16 Comments)
I usually enjoy the writing on Nerve... but not as much as I enjoyed this poem. Damn good.
WELL I REALLY LIKED IT WELL IS THIS REALY JULIA THAT IM TALKING TO WELL TELLING TO I REALLY LUV YOU JULIA I WANT TO MEET YOU YOUR SO PRETTY LUV YOU
WELL JSUT WILL YOU ANSWER MY ? IS THIS REALLY JULIA I LUV YOU IM SO SAD THAT I CANT MEET YOU YORU MY FAV ACTOR THIS IS MY EMAIL ADDRESS ASHLEYKAHLER@ATTBI.COM EMAIL JULIA
yeaH man cut sick baby
Sucks! This guy makes a living doing this? Un-fuckin-believable!
kinda ranty
inspired and inspiring ... i think i might like poetry now ..
I love good poetry, and this was good. No, it was great. Keep up the good work.
To be honest, I usually don't read the poetry on this site, but for some reason I read this one, and I was pleasantly surprised how much I liked it. This is just good, imaginative writing. What more could I ask for? jrobison@journalist.com
First rate poem.
Wait, is this a metaphor or did you really have sex with julia roberts.?..
Very flattering.
Lord, who are these people? This is fantastic-- everything I was taught poetry should be. I love it. Josh Bell, who are you and where is the rest of your work? If I subscribe to those magazines will I see it?
The brightest thing here. More like this.
hola soy colombiano quisiera saber mas de ti
Fucking should be this good, every time. Not only did you capture the cadence of pure sexual abandonment, you captured the soul of mind and cervix.
Now you say something